


The Happy Noodle

by ImBackBoi



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Slice of Life, The power of food compels you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-18
Updated: 2019-06-18
Packaged: 2020-04-06 22:49:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19072267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImBackBoi/pseuds/ImBackBoi
Summary: Hiding from some Maroni hench-men, a street kid takes shelter behind a Chinese restaurant. They adopt him for a day.Or,Jason spends his last day on the streets with some surprisingly charitable Gothamites.





	The Happy Noodle

**Author's Note:**

> This was fun to write :) Huge plot? No. Good feelz? Hopefully.

The Old Man found the boy squished between to trashcans, pressed as far back against the wall as he could get, and clutching a tire iron. It wasn't the first street kid the old man had ever come across and he definitely wouldn't be the last. It was Gotham City he'd immigrated to, after all. A regret he didn't actually regret, despite the pain and hardship it had brought him.  
  
"Why don't you come inside?" the old man said to the boy. The boy jerked violently, big teal eyes terrified as they stared up at the old man.  
  
_"I got no idea what ya said, old man_ ," the boy snapped after a few moments. That was fine. The Old Man could understand him just fine. It's my speaking that I always screw up, he thought.  
  
So the Old Man went to the back door of his restaurant, opened it, and let the tantalizing smells and the sound of sizzling meat do the talking for him.  
  
Food was, after all, one of the universal languages. Like love. Like art. Latin. Transcending boundaries and uniting people in ways that Babel Tower hadn't for thousands of years.  
  
The boys stomach growled ferociously. The old man grinned and gestured inside.  
  
"I will feed you good food and wash your sweater for you," said the old man, "Because kid, you stink."  
  
Cautiously, the boy leaned away from the wall, poked his head out between the trash cans and looked around. Then he darted out and inside faster than a fox after a vole.  
  
_"I still ain't got no idea whatchya sayin', geezer."_

"That's fine," replied the old man, following the boy in and shutting the door behind them, "Food speaks all languages."

..

Jason had no idea what the fuck was happening, but he was so fucking hungry he didn't really fucking care. The Old Fart was some indeterminate chink who couldn't speak English, but the street rat sensed no harm in him (not that that stopped him from watching the guy like a hawk) and he was pretty sure the geezer was offering him a meal (Jason was sure there was a catch, though). Hunger and fear of being caught had driven him to accept the offer more readily than he normally would have. He'd been caught jacking a new tire iron from the wrong shop - how was he supposed to know it was a Maroni chop shop?! -and taken off like the hounds of hell were after him. Which they had been - after a fashion.

But damn if that soup didn't smell like heaven.

Still... Despite the opportunity of a decent meal brought on by his current situation, Jason regretted the loss of his old tire iron - It had been a good tool, he'd even named it! - because now he was on the radar and that was just going to make life that much harder.

_"Here you go,"_ the old man placed a white porcelain bowl with a powder blue design and gold trim in front of the boy. It was chipped and faded, and Jason could see an old crack where it had been glued back together a long time ago, _"It's hot, so be very careful."_

Jason peered into the bowl. His reflection shimmered in a golden broth. Steam dampened his face. Where was the meat? The noodles?

Jason's mouth watered so suddenly he had to wipe it.

"Can I have a spoon? Uh, please?"

The Geezer handed him a funny spoon.

Jason dipped it into the golden broth, blew on it, and took a tentative sip. Warmth washed over him. His eyes watered. Flavors and spices he couldn't name mingled and filled his mouth in ways he couldn't begin to define.

Jason took another sip. Another, and another.

His nose watered. Jason wiped his face again.

The old man laughed, ruffled Jason's dirty hair, and placed a small bowl of rice next to him.

...

When Annie came down to the restaurant, she found her husband sitting at the prep table, talking the ears off the dirtiest kid she'd ever seen.

_"...and that's what gives food that whole-mouth feel, you know? Fish sauce. Or oyster sauce. Or squid,"_ her husband listed, " _Oh, and shrimp paste, if you're making curry. Never forget the shrimp paste, kid."_

The boy had a bowl in his hands and was drinking straight from it. Annie rolled her eyes.

_"Noodles. Listen, if you really want to make the best noodles, you have to make them yourself. Every noodle maker has their own secret recipe, handed down generation to generation, and half the time it's in their head and they never write it down! Even European noodle makers will hoard their noodle secrets like a noodle dragon. The trick is to take into account your environment....Annie!"_

"Yes?"

The boy froze mid-sip.

_"Could you wash the boys sweater, please?"_ her husband asked, _"it reeks to the top of the smog line and it's so dirty. Annie is going to wash your sweater, okay?"_

"He can't understand you, you know," Annie sighed, then addressed the brat in the hoodie, "Hey kid, when you're done lets get your sweater washed, alright? It stinks pretty bad."

"No - uh, thank you, no, that's okay. I don't - I can't -"

"Look," Annie gave the two a wide berth and made her way to the folding doors on the far side of the kitchen. She opened them to reveal an ancient washer-dryer set. "You don't even have to leave the kitchen. Hell, you can sit on top of it if you want. But that sweater needs to get clean. It reeks. If I can smell it all the way upstairs the customers will be able to smell it up front."

"Oh."

"And here," she hefted the bottle of detergent, "unscented. No floral bullshit here."

The kid didn't say anything, but looked at her husband, who nodded.

"Okay," it was said so softly, Annie almost didn't hear it. But her husband beamed at the boy as the kid set his bowl down and took off his sweater. Two minutes later, the washer was thrumming along; dirty rags, aprons, and one nasty hoodie loaded into it.

"I'm going to prep the front," Annie announced, strapping on a faded purple apron, "I don't care if you stay a while, kid. But, if you do, put on an apron and a hair-net."

Then she vanished to the front.

...

Jason slurped the last of his broth and set the bowl down with a satisfying clink. He blinked heavily at the old man.

_"I'm going to call you An-Long,_ " said the old man, " _You can call me, Grandpa,_ " he pointed at himself and repeated, " _Grandpa_."

" _Grandpa_ ," Jason said dutifully, if sleepily.

_"Good. You're quick, I can tell,"_ the old man smiled at Jason. Then pointed at the boy, _"An-Long."_

" _An-Long,_ " Jason said, then protested, "But my name is-"

The old man held up a hand. Jason stopped.

_"I know you have your own name,"_ the old man told him, " _and I'm sure it is a very good name. A strong name for a strong man, but for your protection, and ours, we're going to keep it a secret."_

"Ok," Jason blinked heavily again. His eyes were begining to burn and dampen, "Ok."

_"You are quick, I knew it. Just like I knew you'd understand,_ " The old man beamed, ruffling Jason's hair again, " _If anyone comes asking for a kid, the only one here is our grandson. Would you like to take a nap?"_

"Yes," Jason mumbled, " _Grandpa_."

...

When An-Long woke up later that afternoon, and poked his head out from behind the folding doors that hid the washer-dryer, the Old Man almost didn't see him.

"Ah! An-Long!" he called, "You're awake! Good. Hungry? Great! Come! It's pretty slow right now, we'll have a late lunch before the dinner rush sets in..." the old man rambled as he began pulling dishes off the shelves, "You're probably starving, but I bet you also don't want more soup. That's fine. But you should have a little, it's good for you."

He waved the boy over as he slunk out of the closet. The old man gestured for him to sit then ladled a bit of soup into a small bowl.

"Soup first," the old man said, placing the bowl in front of his 'grandson', "Always start with soup."

"Ok." An-Long picked up the bowl and started sipping.

"You know the secret to a good stir-fry? It's in the size of the food and the time you fry it. Everything has to equal the same cooking time. You can't cook carrots and bean sprouts for the same length of time, oh no! You'll end up with mushy, yucky sprouts and under cooked carrots," the old man chatted as he lit the stove and set a wok on it, "and the rice? Old rice. Always use old rice. Day old rice is good, two day is better. Three days? that's bad for business."

He laughed.

An-Long smiled around his soup.

 

Two hours later, An-Long was still there. He'd left the kitchen exactly once to use the bathroom, but he stuck to the old man's side like he really was his grandson and watched everything with keen, bright eyes.

Annie had been mildly disgruntled.

_"He's not a pet. You can't just keep him," she'd said, voice low as the boy slept, "What if he actually has someone?"_

_"He doesn't," he'd replied just as softly, "I know it. You know it. He knows it."_

_Annie sighed._

_"We're doing a good thing," he told her, "A good thing. This is how we make the world a better place. With kindness and good food."_

_"You are such a sap," laughed his wife, and he loved her even more. Despite Gotham's best efforts, she still retained a hold of her good sense and good humor and that made her and her rare jade eyes all the more beautiful, "Fine. Adopt us a grandson. But I think you like him because he reminds you of you."_

_"Well, there's that, too."_

Now, An-Long sported an apron, tied high on his chest, just under his armpits, a hairnet and baseball cap to hide his hair, and was clean faced. He wielded a broom and scraped excess food off plates into the trash.

" _Wasteful_ ," the boy had muttered, pocketing an uneaten eggroll. The Old Man pretended not to notice.

The front doors chimed. Voices rumbled that the Old Man recognized. He checked his knives and glanced at An-Long. The boy was frozen mid-scrape.

Chairs scraped the floor. Annie was speaking.

He listened.

"... _boy_?" she was saying, _"No, no boys but my husband and our grandson. Someone did knock over the trash in the back earlier, though. Made the biggest fucking mess we ever saw. I thought it was the damn rats again, but maybe it was your kid. You can check round back if you want, but I gotta warn you. It smells like death."_

_"We'll see,"_ a suspicious man replied, _"Hey, you got any of that tea with the milk stuff in it?"_

_"Sure, want one?"_

A minute later, Annie bustled into the kitchen.

" _Alright_ ," she said in a low voice to An-Long, " _You're our grandson, your name is An-Long. Your parents are working and will pick you up later tonight. Keep your eyes down and act dumb, don't take your hat off."_

_"My sweater-!"_

_"Is still in the dryer. The door is shut. Don't think about it. Don't look that way. You concentrate on the dishes and everything will be fine."_

_"I should just -!"_

" _No_!" she hissed, " _You leave now, and they know I lied, and then we die. Understand?_ "

An-long's eyes were wild. The Old Man set a heavy hand on his head. An-Long looked up at him and the Old Man smiled.

_"Sometimes the best protection is doing nothing,"_ he said. Annie repeated it.

An-Long relaxed a bit. The Old Man patted his head.

"It's going to be okay, you'll see."

Annie brought them their drinks and the gangsters ordered food. The Old Man cooked their food with the intent to satisfy, to please, to ease trouble and worries.

An-Long did what he was told, albeit tensely.

_"Let's get back,_ " said a man, _"That kid's probably long gone by now."_

_"Yeah, you're probably right."_

_"I don't really want to look at trash anyways."_

The men chuckled. They left.

An-Long peaked through the kitchen door. Annie was bussing a large table.

" _How did you do that?_ " An-Long whispered in awe.

"That, An-Long, is the Power of Food."

 

An-Long stayed until the last table was wiped and the last dish washed. Then he collected his clean red hoody and tire iron and loitered by the back door.

"Thank you for all of your help," the old man said to the boy as he handed over a to-go box, "Come back anytime if you need to make a quick buck or some good food."

" _Thank_ _you_ , Grandpa."

" _Here_ ," Annie held out a wad of bills, _"you work hard kid. You earned it_."

_"Thanks, lady."_

The Old Man opened the door and looked around.

"It's clear," he nodded at the boy, "Goodbye, An-Long."

An-Long slipped out the door and vanished into the night.

...

Jason left that night with a promise to himself that he would go back the next day and take the old couple up on their offer. However, later that night his life changed forever, and his promise remains forgotten.


End file.
